Love and Pancakes
by TheFoxinator
Summary: Spike, Buffy, and Angel on Valentine's morning. Polyfidelity Spuffel (S/B/A). Post-NFA. Set in the same 'verse as "Those Things" and "Pride."


**Disclaimer: They _still _belong to Joss, as sad as it is. **

**A/N: Another story set in the same 'verse as "Those Things" and "Pride" which newcomers don't actually have to read. But I want you to, anyway. Please?**

**This one only has one segment, though, because it didn't exist even in my head until about two hours ago.**

**Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. **

* * *

"I think I'm doing something wrong," Buffy complains. She puckers her lips in a pout and flutters her eyelashes at her reflection in the vanity and then sighs.

Spike watches her from the bed where he lays on his side with his head on his arm, still under the blankets. "May be that you're overthinking this, pet."

Buffy uses her hands to muss up her hair, trying to obtain the artfully ravished look that apparently was only obtainable through hours of careful styling. "It looked really sexy when Angelina Jolie did it," she complains.

Buffy turns around and holds her arms out to show off all the success she is lacking. "I don't get it," she pouts. Angel's shirt is much too big for her. It hangs on her awkwardly, falling slightly from one shoulder, and is wide enough to fully obscure her slender body while never actually touching her. The sleeves fall past her hands just as quickly as she can roll them back up.

Spike makes the closest approximation of a shrug he can make without moving the weight of his body from his shoulder. He holds his hand out to her and she pads barefoot across the bedroom's wooden floor to take it in hers, standing at the side of the bed.

He looks her up and down (mostly up considering their position) with a considering eye before nodding. "You know, slayer," he says, "you may be right. Not really working. Probably ought to just do away with the whole thing."

Buffy smiles a sly little smile at him. She begins to slowly tug the hem of the shirt up her leg, using the hand still holding onto Spike to keep him from rushing the show along.

The door interrupts her when it cracks open behind her back, however, and Buffy hurriedly yanks the shirt back down to cover herself. She spins to face the entrance, dropping back to sit on the bed, a motion that lands her sitting on Spike's hip.

Angel stands in the doorway and looks at the two of them, some mixture of amused and puzzled. "Hey."

"Oh. Hey." Buffy waves and Spike squirms around beneath her. She ignores him, because it isn't like he can say he doesn't like her on top of him or something, and gives an expression of relief and mild embarrassment to Angel. "I thought you might be Dawn," she explains.

Angel nods in complete understanding. That was definitely a situation they don't want to have to deal with again.

Still pinned by Buffy, Spike lifts his head up, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air. He eyes the tray Angel is holding. "Did you make us _breakfast_?" he asks, as if he's still trying to grasp such a concept even as the words leave his mouth. He tries again. "_You _made _us _breakfast?" The tone of incredulousness is not at all lessened on the second attempt, though.

Buffy's eyes are still on Angel as well, her own face an expression of confusion. "Since when do we own a dinner tray?"

Angel looks down at the tray in his hands, and the stack of pancakes and bottle of syrup and the mugs that tilt a little precariously the way they're jammed in and the flowers that are coloured pink and red in the holiday spirit. "Well," he says, looking back up, "it's Valentine's Day and this seemed to make more sense this way than the other way around."

Spike butts his head against Buffy's elbow. "Isn't he sweet?"

"So sweet," Buffy nods. She smiles at Angel and scoots backwards, off of Spike so that she's sitting on the bed behind him, though her bare legs are still thrown over his hip. The shirt rides up enough to show that she's taken a lesson in selecting under things from Spike.

Spike rolls over onto his back and sits up. "See how sweet he is after we finish giving our thanks, hm?" He grins at Angel and his tongue becomes visible between his teeth. The older vampire responds by shoving the tray into his arms.

"Close the door," Buffy reminds him.


End file.
